They say he held the record for the fastest speeding ticket in Los Angeles – 170mph on a motorbike along Pacific Coast highway. They say he totalled two Porsches along Sunset Strip. I don't know if any of that's true and I don't care. He was a man people liked to tell stories about.

I knew Tony for three months, seven years ago, when I worked with him on Domino. Every second I spent with him was a privilege. I remember him standing in the Nevada desert at sunrise wearing his ever-present red baseball cap, mountain climbing shorts, holding a cigar in his hand. He smoked them all day long. I remember his excitement behind the monitor, jumping around like a hyperactive six-year-old, shouting encouragement all through a take. "Nasty, baby. Yeah, nasty. Fuck him up."

Explosions everywhere, guns everywhere, sex everywhere, sweat everywhere, blood everywhere: he told stories of people who lived behind the shadows – tales of revenge, redemption, sacrifice and innocence – adrenaline-filled, fevered dreams. He covered the screen with kinetic energy; bleached-out shots, spliced images, pattern on pattern. He turned neon colour to black and white, slow motion to speeded up, techno music to Debussy, in the blink of an eye; exploding cars into swimming bodies. His films are acid trips: images you could only see at the end of a long, hard night.

We worked together in 2005. Tony was having cortisone injections into his hip every morning because he'd had a hip replacement. He had the removed part of his hip polished up and set in the top of a cane. I never saw him use it. I never saw him sit down. He was still mountain climbing. One day we stood in a room together, with six naked women, choosing me a bum double. We disagreed on whose bum was the best but, being a gentleman, he gave me my way.

He always liked the authentic in his films so he got members of the 18 Street gang in as extras. In a couple of scenes they were given guns to hold. As soon as the take was finished, they had to stand with the weapons over their heads so the police could collect them. They were all felons and legally weren't allowed to carry guns. They respected Tony, and he respected them. He spoke to them all as equals, asked them to tell him the stories of their tattoos. One night he took me and some friends to a restaurant I'd heard about that was famous for $5,000 a night hookers. He made me try and guess which women standing at the bar they were, but never told me if I was right.

We filmed in strip clubs and meth labs deep in the desert. All his crew loved him. We all loved him. He was the life and soul of the set: the motor, the laughter, the mischief. His wife told me he'd be so tired at the end of the day he'd fall asleep as soon as he got in and then get up at 4am to start story-boarding.

He made everyone who worked with him his family. He made everyone feel important – even my dad. He had come to visit me during the shoot and on his last day in LA, Tony called him on to set, gathered everyone around and said: "This is Will Knightley's last day with us. Thank you for a being a part of it." The whole set applauded. My dad has never forgotten it. That was Tony's kindness, his way of including everyone, making everyone feel valued, even a cast member's dad.

Tony Scott was a master film-maker: one who was constantly pushing the boundaries of what his medium could do. His films don't just belong in cinemas, they belong in art galleries too. His images get stuck in your head, those fevered neon dreams, those violent men of legend, and just occasionally those violent women too. He let a 19-year-old girl play out the angry young man inside her. I'll always love him for that. I'll always love him for his exploding spirit and imagination.

A few hours after I heard about Tony's death on 19 August, I got stung by a hornet. I was sitting on the kitchen floor of a cottage in France swearing my head off and a hummingbird moth, tiny and delicate, flew round me twice. Of course I didn't think that was Tony, but the image seemed appropriate: the hummingbird with a hornet's sting.

The world is a lesser place without Tony Scott. He was an original in every way. There will never be another like him. He was the only truly rock'n'roll person I've ever met. Watch his films, be part of his violent delights. He was, is and always will be a legend.